Not Alone
by thedemonkingawakes
Summary: Clint Barton is a contract assassin. Phil Coulson is a Shield agent. After a chance meeting in Austria, Agent Coulson brings Clint to Shield as a potential asset. But when Phil goes missing on a mission, how far will Clint go to find his handler…and friend. *Slight Whump Fic* *Hurricane Universe* *Pre-Natasha* *No Slash*
1. I've been alone, Surrounded by darkness

A man pushed open the door to Sébastien Lacharriere's inner office.

"Hawkeye, Monsieur Lacharriere will speak with you now."

Hawkeye stepped past the man and into Monsieur Lacharriere's office. Monsieur Lacharriere himself was sitting at a desk in the middle of the room. A single, straight-backed chair sat on the opposite side of the desk, clearly intended for use by visitors.

"You must be Hawkeye." Monsieur Lacharriere said, motioning for him to sit down in the chair.

Hawkeye remained standing, a smirk on his face. "You sound surprised."

"I wasn't expecting someone so … banale." The Frenchman struggled for a moment to find the right word before reverting to his native language. (_Ordinary._)

"Je ne viens pas ici pour discuter de mon remarkableness ou l'absence de. Vous avez un contrat pour moi? (_I didn't come here to discuss my remarkableness or lack of it. You have a contract for me?_)

If Monsieur Lacharriere was shocked by Hawkeye's grasp of French, he didn't show it. Instead he pulled a folder out from somewhere behind his desk and slid it to Hawkeye. He opened the folder to reveal a picture of a small, blond woman.

"Son nom est Sophie Kiemle." Monsieur Lacharriere said. "J'ai besoin de vous pour l'éliminer" (_Her name is Sophie Kiemle. I need you to eliminate her._)

"I have a fee, _Monsieur_." Somehow, Hawkeye managed to fill the word with contempt, making it very clear what he thought of the man.

"And it will be paid. Half will be given to you now and you will receive the rest after the job is done."

"Dites à vos gens de me rendre mes armes en je m'en irais." (_Tell your people to give my weapons back and I'll be on my way._)

"Louis, donne lui ses armes." Monsieur Lacharriere called to someone in the outer office. (_Louis, give Hawkeye his weapons back._)

One of Monsieur Lacharriere's assistants entered the office carrying Hawkeye's bow and quiver of arrows. Hawkeye took them from the assistant, who quickly hurried out of the room, no doubt having heard of Hawkeye's reputation. He slipped the weapons over his head with the ease of old familiarity and moved to leave. Unable to resist a parting shot, he paused at the door and turned back to Monsieur Lacharriere.

"You should really get better security. Sie haben nicht einmal prüfen, mich für Waffen. Sie fragte nur." He said, switching to German just to frustrate the other man. (_They didn't even check me for weapons. They just asked._)

He turned and left, leaving a frustrated and confused Monsieur Lacharriere behind.

Clint pushed the door to his safe house closed. Almost immediately, the mask of a snarky, experienced killer dropped and for just a second a nineteen year old boy was in its place. Then, Clint forced his emotions down and the guise of an assassin returned.

He exchanged his sleeveless black shirt that he used to intimidate clients for a loose fitting black tee-shirt. As he grabbed a packet of ramen from the pile in the cupboard and put a pot of water on to boil, he ran over the information he had on his target.

Sophie Kiemle. Small, blond female currently on a business trip in Austria. He'd have to find out which hotel she was staying in, but he knew a few people that could help.

Clint dumped the noodles and seasoning into the boiling water. He would have to get a flight to Austria in the morning. He sighed. Austria never had been his favorite country. He'd make the job as quick as possible and then get the hell out of Austria.

The timer for his ramen went off, pulling him back to reality. He dumped the noodles into a bowl and sat down at the little kitchen table with a map. To anyone looking through the window, he would look like just another university student studying for his mid-term exams.

Phil Coulson stopped punching the punching bag and looked up as a young woman pushed open the door to the training room.

"Agent Coulson, Director Fury would like to see you in his office immediately."

Coulson pulled off his boxing gloves and started unwrapping the athletic tape wrapped around his wrists.

"It's Hill, isn't it?" When she nodded, he continued. "Thank you Hill. Please tell the director that I'll be there in ten minutes."

Hill turned and left. Coulson sighed. Director Fury always seemed to have to see him when he was in the middle of something. Still, Coulson supposed it was better than the middle of the night.

Ten minutes later, Coulson was standing in Fury's office in one of his less rumpled suits, trying to ignore his still wet hair.

"You wanted to see me sir."

"Yes. How much have you heard about Sébastien Lacharriere?"

"Not much. He's a businessman in France. Why's he on our radar?"

"About a year ago, he started selling illegal weapons. Until now, he kept it relatively small and in Paris. Last week, we got reports saying his partner was going to set up a second location in Austria. That's your mission. Take out the partner and, if possible, Sébastien Lacharriere."

"When do I leave?" Coulson asked, accepting the folder Fury slid across the table.

"1700 hours." Fury replied, his tone making it clear the meeting was over.

Coulson left, already starting to look through the information for the mission.

Clint landed lightly on the roof of the building across from the hotel Sophie Kiemle was staying at. A few bills in the right hands had made it easy to find the woman. Before Clint had even landed, he had had the name of the hotel and the room number. He settled down to wait. The hotel entrance was too open a place to get off the shot. He'd have to run some surveillance and find a quieter place to make the shot. It wouldn't do to draw attention to himself. He was pulled out of his musings by the appearance of Sophie Kiemle. She strode out of the hotel, towards the little diner Clint knew was a few blocks away. Clint followed her, staying on the rooftops so he had a better vantage point. She reached the diner and went inside.

"Dammit." Clint muttered to himself, slipping his bow and quiver off his shoulders. As much as he hated leaving them behind, they would stand out too much in the small diner. He tucked the bow and quiver against the edge of the roof so they wouldn't be easily visible and clambered down the fire escape, dropping the last twenty feet and rolling to absorb the impact. He let his muscles relax until he looked like any other tourist on vacation. Then, he walked into the diner and took a seat in a booth, only glancing at Miss Kiemle for a second.

Clint's booth was back to back with Sophie Kiemle's booth, providing cover while still allowing Clint to hear what she said.

"Hallo sir." Sophie said. (_Hello sir._)

"Sophie Bitte rufen Sie mich an Franz." A male voice replied. Clint assumed someone had joined Sophie at her table. (_Sophie please, call me Franz._)

"Es tut mir leid, dieses Treffen so kurzfristig arrangieren, aber ich lasse die Stadt von morgen und wir haben einige Geschäfte zu kümmern." (_I'm sorry to arrange this meeting on such short notice, but I'm leaving the city tomorrow and we have some business to take care of._)

Dammit. He'd have to take her out tonight.

A waitress approached his booth.

"Hallo Sir. Was kann ich Ihnen bringen?" (_Hello sir. What can I get you?_)

"Ich werde einen Kaffee bitte." Clint replied. (_I'll have a coffee please._)

"Sie sprechen unsere Sprache sehr gut. Haben Sie schon einmal hier?" (_You speak our language very well. Have you been here before?_)

"Ich habe viel Zeit in Deutschland auf Geschäftsreise verbracht." (_I've spent lots of time in Germany on business._)

The waitress left and Clint was able to catch the last few words of Sophie's conversation.

"Ich werde Sie heute Abend treffen und machen den Austausch." (_I'll meet you tonight and make the exchange._)

A minute later Sophie left as the waitress returned with his coffee. Clint took the cup from her and handed her the money for the coffee.

"Danke." (_Thanks._)

He followed Sophie out the door, retrieving his bow and quiver before setting off in the direction she had gone.

Agent Coulson tapped his comm as Sophie Kiemle entered the penthouse suite of her hotel.

"I found her."

After a moment, Director Fury's voice came over the comm line.

"_Good work Watchdog. Run -_"

Coulson cut Director Fury off. "She's leaving the country today. Our base in Vienna told me when I landed. Which does raise the question sir, why didn't you tell me when you were briefing me on the mission?"

"_I didn't think you would accept the mission if you knew she was leaving today._"

Agent Coulson cut the connection. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a slight movement on the rooftop across the street. He raised his head to find the source of the movement, but there was nothing there. Frowning, Coulson adjusted his position slightly so he could see the rooftop and the penthouse suite.

A few minutes later, Sophie left the penthouse suite. Coulson grabbed his pack and went down to street level, following a little bit behind Sophie. He followed her for about four blocks before she turned down a dimly lit side alley and stopped.

Agent Coulson looked around and, upon finding a fire escape on a building at the mouth of the alley, climbed halfway up so he had a good vantage point. He pulled a gun out of his pack and turned on the night vision on his scope, lining it up so he had a clear shot at Sophie Kiemle. He put his finger on the trigger and squeezed. Sophie Kiemle collapsed backwards, dead, a bullet in her head and a black arrow protruding from her heart.

Agent Coulson tapped his comm. "Requesting permission to change my mission parameters."

"_Why?_" Director Fury's voice came over the comms.

"Because I'd like to attempt to bring in a new asset, sir."

Fury sighed. "_You have to make this mission harder for everyone, don't you? There's still twenty-four hours left in your timetable. Do what you want with it. When that time expires, I want you back at base, with or without your new asset._"

Hawkeye slung his bow over his shoulder and quietly descended to street level, pulling a sweatshirt over his bow and quiver and becoming just another person wandering around Salzburg. He glanced around, noting several policemen in the crowd. As he turned the corner, he noticed a man carrying a duffle bag moving in Hawkeye's general direction, purpose clear in his eyes and in the bag he carried. Hawkeye slipped into a side alley and waited. When the man turned the corner, Hawkeye charged him and wrapped his arms around the man's neck. The man dropped his bag and twisted, pulling Hawkeye over his shoulder and into a headlock.

"Who are you?" He asked, loosening his hold slightly so Hawkeye could answer.

"Roy Jackson." He replied, the picture of a scared teenage boy.

"Well, Roy Jackson, you can call me Coulson." Coulson said, pulling off the sweatshirt covering Hawkeye's bow and quiver with one hand, keeping a tight hold on his wrist with the other. "Why do you have a bow and a quiver of arrows? Unusual weapons for a teenager, especially in the city." He removed the quiver from Hawkeye's back, slinging it and the bow over his shoulder.

Hawkeye relaxed some, adjusting his body language to match that of an overconfident teenager from the lower city.

"Protection." He paused for a moment. "Don't you want to search me? Make sure I don't have anything else on me."

"I know you have a gun and several knives on your person. I would highly advise against trying to use them. Knives and guns are not uncommon to carry for protection, especially in the lower city. What I'm interested in is the bow and arrows."

"I told you, it's for protection."

"Arrows aren't defensive weapons. Not at close range. And you're hardly likely to be threatened at a long distance in the city."

Hawkeye stayed silent, which Coulson took to mean he agreed, however much he hated it.

"Arrows are an assassin's weapon in the city. They're the trademark of one of the best assassins I've heard of." He released Hawkeye's arm. "If you know where to find said assassin, tell him I want to talk."

Hawkeye spun, sliding his bow off Coulson's shoulder and pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back.

"You want to talk? Talk."

Coulson nodded.

"But," Hawkeye continued. "We talk on my terms." He aimed his arrow at Coulson's heart. "Tell the truth and tell it quickly or I put an arrow through your heart."

Coulson thought for a moment, deciding how much to tell him.

"You have three seconds to start talking."

"My name is Agent Coulson. I work for Shield. I saw how you shot Sophie Kiemle tonight. I want to recruit you as an asset for Shield."

Hawkeye hesitated. This Coulson man seemed like he was genuine, but in Hawkeye's line of work it paid to be cautious. He lowered his bow, without removing the arrow from the string.

"Alright. I'm Barton. Why do you want to recruit me? I'll know if you're lying." The last part was a bluff, but Clint hoped it would work in his favor.

"You have qualities we look for in our assets. And we need more long distance operatives." It was a risk, Coulson knew, revealing their weakness but for some reason he felt like he could trust Barton.

Before Clint could reply, a gunshot cracked the air.

"I have to deal with them again?" Clint mutters to himself. He turned to Coulson. "You should get out of here. These fights get messy and I would hate for your agency to come after me because you took a bullet in a gang fight." Although he didn't say so, Clint liked this man. He had an unusually high opinion of Clint and he didn't want to ruin that.

"I'm here 'til the end of the day. If you want to join, come to the airfield by ten o'clock."

Coulson turned then hesitated. He didn't like leaving a person to face an undetermined number of gang members alone, even a person as capable as Barton.

"Go. This is my fight."

Coulson shrugged the quiver of his shoulder and tossed it to Clint, before turning and hurrying off.

Clint slipped the strap of the quiver over his head so the quiver lay comfortably across his back. He loosened the knives strapped against his wrists, enabling them to slide into his hands in an instant.

As the first attackers rounded the corner, Clint nocked an arrow on his bow.

"Walk away now and I won't follow. I'd really take the deal if I were you."

They didn't answer. The man at the head of the pack pulled out a gun and clumsily aimed it at Clint.

Clint sighed. He drew back the bowstring and released the arrow in one fluid movement. The black arrow sprung forward from the bow to bury itself in the man's chest. Three more followed it in rapid succession, finding their marks in the throats and chests of the men on either side of the leader. Then, the gang was on him and he tossed his bow clear of the scuffle, sliding knives into his hands as the bow left them.

Clint launched himself into the air, flipping over his attackers heads and driving his knife into the back of the attacker on the left's neck. He rolled as he landed, coming up just in time to get a fist to his face from the last man in the gang.

"You killed my best friends."

"And now I'm going to kill you." Clint replied. He didn't say it angrily. He said it on a scarily calm voice, stating a fact. That frightened the man more than any threat could.

In his anger, the man had overlooked the knife that was still in Clint's right hand. Now, Clint pulled the man close and thrust the knife into the man's heart.

Clint collected his weapons and climbed onto the roof. Leaping from rooftop to rooftop, he began making his way back to his safe house. He had a lot to think on.

* * *

**This is probably one of the longest stories I have written to date. I have all the chapters written, so I'm going to try to post one chapter a day (Probably at night). Hopefully no one seems to OOC. Keep in mind though that this takes place about ten years before the events of The Avengers, so everyone is a little different.**

***Bonus points if anyone can tell me in the comments what song the chapter titles come from***


	2. I'll always do my best, To make you see

Coulson glanced at his watch for the fifth time in the last five minutes.

"Agent Coulson, sir, we really have to get going." The pilot called.

Coulson sighed. He supposed Hawkeye had decided not to accept the offer to join Shield. "Alright."

He walked up the steps into the plane, pausing at the top for just a second.

"You're not leaving without me, are you?"

Clint stood at the foot of the stairs, sporting a black eye and carrying a black duffle bag in either hand.

"You're late."

"You said ten, I'm here at ten."

"Get on the plane. We can talk on the way back to the US."

Clint walked up the steps and into the body of the plane. He tucked his bags under a seat, so they wouldn't slide around. Coulson sat down one side of the plane and Clint sat down on the other, facing Coulson.

"So, does Shield know your bringing me in?"

"They know I'm bringing in a new asset. I didn't say who."

"This should be interesting to watch." Clint remarked, his lips turning up slightly at the corners.

He reached into one of his bags and pulled out a well-worn copy of 'The Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring'. He slouched down in his seat, opening the book to the first page as he did so. Coulson pulled a stack of paperwork from his own bag, but didn't start it. He watched Barton for a moment, noting the almost unnoticeable tension in his shoulders.

Barton looked up from his book. "Did you need something?"

Coulson shook his head. "No. You're just different from what I expected." He paused. "I should really get the paperwork for this mission done."

He pulled a pen from his jacket pocket and started on the pile of reports.

The jet landed in Shield's airfield. Clint closed his book and slid it back into his bag, making sure that the zippers on both were securely closed.

"We'll be going to Director Fury's office later. He'll assign you a trainee group and a supervising officer to report to. For now, I'll show you to one of the visitor bedrooms."

Clint grabbed his bags from under the seat and followed Coulson into the main building of Shield.

Together, they walked through the deserted hallways until they reached the wing of the complex that housed the guest rooms.

"You can stay here until you're assigned to a trainee group. After that you'll be bunking with your fellow trainees." Coulson said, indicating the first door on the left.

"Thanks." Clint replied.

He slipped inside the room and shut the door behind him. The room was plain, featuring a bed, a night table with an alarm clock, and a dresser. As Clint looked around the room he noticed a large air vent set in the ceiling over the bed. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on the bed as he moved to remove the covering on the vent. He grabbed a pillow off the bed and tossed it into the vent along with several knives and a spare jacket. He climbed up after them.

Clint lay the pillow at an angle to the wall and tucked one of the knives under it, sliding the rest if the knives a few feet further along the shaft. He curled up and pulled the jacket over himself, falling into an uneasy sleep almost instantly.

A knock sounded on Clint's door. Clint slipped out of the air vent with the pillow. He set the pillow down on the bed and carefully replaced the air vent covering behind him.

"Mr. Barton, I was asked to escort you to Director Fury's office."

Clint grabbed a pair of jeans and a loose, black tee-shirt from the top of one of his duffle bags and pulled them on.

"Mr. Barton, we do have to get there at a reasonable time!" The woman called, irritation coloring her voice.

"Just give me a minute to make myself presentable." Clint called in response.

From his other bag, he withdrew a tiny, flat knife that fit into a special compartment in his boot. He picked up his quiver and slipped it over his head.

Clint picked up his bow and opened the door. A young woman stood there, impatiently tapping her foot.

"Follow me, Mr. Barton. And be quick about it." She turned on her heel and strode down the hallway. "And leave your bow and arrow behind." Clint unstrung the bow and slipped it into his quiver, then followed the girl down the hall.

"Director Fury, Mr. Barton is here to see you."

The door to Fury's office opened to reveal Director Fury himself.

"Thank you Trainee Waters."

The young woman left and Clint entered Director Fury's office. He took a seat next to Agent Coulson. Fury took a seat behind his desk.

"Agent Coulson has already informed me that he brought you in to train as an asset. I assume you want to work here?"

"Yeah."

"You'll be assigned to Training Group 4. Agent Alyss Kingston will be your training officer. Report to her to receive your initial evaluation. You're dismissed."

Clint stood up and walked towards the door. Agent Coulson stopped him for just a second.

"Barton, in the future, leave the bow in your room."

Clint didn't respond. Coulson released his arm and he left. As soon as he was gone, Fury opened the folder sitting on his desk.

"Do you realize who you recruited?" Fury demanded, shoving the folder at Agent Coulson.

"Yes." Coulson replied, calmly taking the folder.

"You brought Hawkeye, the goddamned assassin that took out four of our men not two months ago, into the heart of our organization."

"Director Fury, I am aware of who he is. You know as well as I do that we need long distance operatives."

"We need operatives, not assassins!"

"Give him six months. If you still don't think he has the skills we need in our operatives, you can expel him from Shield."

"Even if there weren't the small matter of him being an assassin, he's too young to join Shield."

"The age limit is there so we don't have a bunch of teenagers running around on dangerous missions."

"Exactly!" Fury exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air.

"Director, Barton's no clueless teenager. He's been doing this for a while, I could see it in his eyes."

"If we make an exception for one person, others will want us to make an exception for them."

"I was that young when you brought me in. Besides, if it's going to be such an issue, don't tell them he's not old enough. After all, he's nineteen. He'll be twenty in five months." Coulson replied, having looked over the folder as they talked.

"Fine. Since you have so much faith in him, I'll let him have six months. You can go now." Fury said, turning towards his computer.

"Not quite, Director. There's still the matter of you not giving me all the information for my last mission."

Fury didn't look up, hoping he could avoid the conversation he knew was coming. "As I already told you, I thought you wouldn't accept the mission if you knew everything."

"Did it ever occur to you what would have happened if our base in Vienna hadn't told me she was leaving? I would have done surveillance on her like normal. Which means it is highly likely that she would have left without my knowledge. Then you would have sent me on a pointless mission and she would have escaped."

"I'm sorry Phil. I should have told you that the mission had a very short window to be completed in."

But Coulson wasn't finished. "This time, the information you omitted didn't put me in danger. But what about next time," He rose, his voice becoming louder. "When you omit to tell a team that there's no extraction team coming for them. Or that their target used poison tipped weapons." He was shouting now. "What would you do if the information you omitted caused an agent to lose their life or be tortured for months."

"Agent Coulson…" Fury began, then stopped. There really wasn't anything to say.

Coulson left, taking Barton's file with him. Fury sighed and walked out onto the ledge outside his office that overlooked the training area.

Clint jumped up on the railing that surrounded the ledge outside Fury's office. He had opted not to wander around the complex trying to find his way to the training area. Instead, he strung his bow in one smooth, practiced movement and pulled his grappling hook arrow out of his quiver. He nocked the arrow, then jumped off the railing. As he fell, Clint twisted in midair and fired the arrow at the railing. The arrow caught on the rail and Clint swung back towards the balcony, landing in the shadowy area underneath, partially concealed from sight. He removed the arrow from his bow and, slinging the bow over his shoulder, walked into the training area.

Clint approached the woman standing by the obstacle course. "I'm looking for Alyss Kingston. Do you know where I can find her?"

She turned to face him. "I'm Agent Kingston." She replied, putting slight emphasis on the word agent. "Who are you?"

"Barton. Fury assigned me to your training group. He told me I should come see you to have my initial evaluation done."

"We'll start with physical fitness. Track and agility. After that, weapons. Then, you'll go down to the psyche department for that part of your eval."

She led the way to the track.

"Give me five laps."

She pulled a stopwatch out of her pocket and started it as Clint began running.

_Damn that kid's fast_ she thought as she watched him running around the track.

Five and a half minutes later, Clint came to a stop in front of Agent Kingston. Wordlessly, she led the way to the agility course.

"The rules for this are pretty simple. You go over everything except the nets, which you crawl under."

Clint started the course almost before she finished speaking, running across the thin rope that spanned a pit of sand as if it was a foot wide instead of a few inches. He finished quickly and came around to stand in front of Agent Kingston.

"How'd I do?" He asked.

"I've seen faster." In truth, while she had seen faster times, there weren't many and none of the trainees' times came close.

"So, we're doing weapons now?"

"Yes." Agent Kingston replied leading the way to a small door. She pushed it open to reveal a section of the training room dedicated to weapons. There were several sparring rings pushed against the wall on one side. On the other, a glass wall separated the shooting range from the rest of the room.

"We'll start with guns, then hand to hand combat." She took a gun off the rack on the wall. "Use this one."

Clint grabbed a pair of earplugs and walked into the shooting arena. He fired the gun until it was empty, most of his shots hitting close to the bull's-eye.

"Hand to hand combat. I'll be your partner for today."

Clint and Agent Kingston stepped into the sparring ring, Clint slipping his bow and quiver over one of the side posts. They took their stances on opposite sides of the ring. Clint made the first move, rushing at Agent Kingston and throwing a punch at her head. She ducked it easily and aimed a crescent kick at his legs, sweeping his legs out from under him. She pinned him for a few seconds, tapping each point where an enemy could have killed him or knocked him out.

"I won. Let me see how good you are with that thing you've been carrying around all day, then you can head to the psyche department." She pointed to a cluster of targets on the other side of the room. "Shoot those."

Clint looked around the room as he grabbed his bow from the post. There was no one in the weapons range besides him and Agent Kingston. In one practiced motion, he pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked it.

He sighted and released. Quickly, he had another three in the air.

_Thwump_

_Thwump_

_Thwump_

_Thwump_

The arrows landed in their intended targets one after another. Agent Kingston walked over to inspect the targets and was unable to keep a small gasp of astonishment from escaping her.

"You can head to psyche now. It's down the hall and to the right."

Agent Coulson turned as Agent Kingston walked up.

"How'd the eval go?" He asked.

"I don't know where you found him, but he has some skill. He passed all his fitness tests easily. Did pretty well with a gun, certainly better than most new recruits. Hand to hand combat is his weakest spot. He rushes to attack. Easily the best part was his archery though. I told him to shoot at some of the knife throwing targets, since there was no one else in there, but I meant for him to get closer to the targets. He made his shots from the edge of the sparring ring."

"That's what, 60 yards?"

"Yeah."

"How were the shots?"

"That's the incredible part. He hit the bull's-eye every time. I've seen archers make shots over that distance before, but not like him. He had four arrows in the air in the space of a few seconds, going at four different targets. It's like he didn't sight at all. He just fired."

"First time I saw one of his shots firsthand he must have been 100 yards away from his target and he shot her through the heart."

"You've always been able to spot good potential assets." Agent Kinston said after a moment.

Two Months Later

Agent Kingston pulled Agent Coulson aside in the practice rooms.

"Can I speak with you for a minute?"

"Sure." He replied, following her across the hall into one of the empty rooms that made up the main section of Shield.

"It's about that Barton kid you brought in a few months back."

"What about Barton?"

"He's, ummm, having issues. He hasn't made friends or even really talked to any of the trainees as far as everyone can tell. He's lazy and inattentive in all his lessons."

"What about the physical training?" Coulson asked.

"He's the best of the trainees by far. Actually, he's getting cocky because no one beats him at anything. And Coulson, he seems to be going somewhere at night. Several of the trainees in his bunk room have said that he is gone in the mornings. I've tried looking on the security footage, but he doesn't show up anywhere between lights out and when he shows up in the training rooms the next morning."

Internally, Coulson cursed himself. He should have been paying more attention to Barton's training.

"Don't worry Alyss. I'll talk to him and see if I can find anything out."

He left, heading towards the cafeteria. It was past time he had a talk with Mr. Barton.

Clint took a seat at a table in the back of the cafeteria. No one else sat with him, he had shown them the second day of his training what would happen if they tried.

A tray slid onto the table across from him. He looked up to glare at whoever had decided to attempt to sit with him at found himself looking into the face of Agent Coulson. He looked back down, determinedly avoiding meeting Coulson's eyes.

"What do you want?" He asked, cutting open his roll and spreading honey on it.

"To talk. Agent Kingston came to see me today."

Clint sighed. Of course. The stupid instructor wanted someone to talk with him about his behavior. He took a bite of his salad and ignored Agent Coulson.

"She said you're not fitting in very well with the rest of the trainees."

Clint didn't reply.

"She also told me you're not paying attention in your classes."

"They're boring. Who cares about protocol or mission debriefs?" Clint replied.

"It's part of being a Shield agent." Coulson looked at Barton for a moment, assessing him. "Do you want to explain why you aren't trying in your classes or your training sessions?"

"I don't need to try in training. I can beat all the other trainees without putting in any effort."

Coulson pulled a pair of protein bars out of his pocket and tossed one to Barton. "Here. They're better than the cafeteria food."

Clint tossed it back. "I don't need your charity." He stood up and left, putting his roll in a napkin and dumping his remaining food in the trash.

Coulson dumped his trash into the trashcan and left, heading for Director Fury's office.

Director Fury opened the door to his office to admit Agent Coulson. They walked out onto the ledge that looked over that overlooked the training area.

"I want to talk to you about Barton." Coulson said, breaking the silence.

"What about him?"

"I'd like to become his handler and take him out of the trainee classes."

Fury watched the trainees running drills for a few minutes before he responded.

"That's not normal procedure for training agents."

"Barton's not a normal agent. You know he needs a challenge. He told me himself that the trainees don't provide one, in any element of his physical training."

"What about his lessons on protocol and rules?" Fury said.

"I'll take over teaching him."

"You can take over as his handler and teacher for a one month probationary period. If his performance doesn't improve by then, he'll rejoin the other trainees."

Coulson turned away to hide the smile breaking out on his face. When he was calm he turned back to Director Fury. "Thank you, Director." He left.

"He is rather good with that bow of his, isn't he?" Fury mused, watching Barton fire off arrow after arrow.

Coulson walked up to the track and watched as the trainees completed another lap. Barton was almost half a lap ahead of the main group of trainees as they rounded the curve.

"Alyss, when Barton's done here, send him to room 41."

"Room 41? But that's where the old classrooms are, the ones that Shield stopped using when we built the current classrooms. Besides, he has lessons."

"I spoke to Fury after you told me about Barton's issues. I'm his handler now, for a probationary period. If his performance improves I'll be his permanent handler."

"That still doesn't explain why he is getting out of his classes." She said, turning to check the progress of the trainees. "Speed it up Waters, Evans."

"I'm going to teach his lessons while I'm his handler."

"Alright. I can't say it won't be easier to teach classes without Barton making smart ass comments all the time. I'll send him as soon as he finishes."

Clint dropped into the hallway outside room 41, pulling the vent cover into place as he dropped. One of the best features about the Shield facility was that the air vents were large enough for him to move around in with relative ease. He pushed open the door and found himself looking at a rather unusual classroom. The tables had all been pushed against the wall and the chairs were stacked in the corner. In the middle of the room, there was a big circular rug and a pair of beanbag chairs facing each other. Agent Coulson was sitting in one of the beanbag chairs. He motioned towards the other chair.

Clint sat. "This is definitely not what I was expecting."

"I thought you might like not being in a classroom." Coulson reached into a bag beside his chair and pulled out a book and a chocolate bar. He set them down with the chocolate bar on top of the book and slid them over to Clint.

"The Ranger's Apprentice. You should read the series, if you like adventure stories."

Clint looked at the book for a moment. Coulson could see something close to longing in his eyes for a second, before it was replaced by a cold, hard emptiness.

"I told you, I don't need your charity."

"It's not charity, it's a gift."

"I don't need anything from you, whatever you call it."

Coulson looked like he wanted to argue, but decided to let the matter go for the moment.

"What do you know about Shield protocol?"

* * *

**Chapter Two. I know there hasn't been a ton of action yet, but don't worry, we're getting there. Anyone know what song the chapter titles are from yet?**

**I have no clue if those are actually impressive distances for an archery shot. I'm mostly relying on what I looked up on the internet, so it may not be accurate. **

**Also, please let me know if I'm screwing up translations. Since I don't speak any of the languages, I'm relying on Google Translate, which isn't always accurate. **


	3. Trying to make sense of things sometimes

"I want to see how well you fight against the other trainees." Agent Coulson said. "They're having a sparring session in a few minutes."

Clint didn't respond. He pulled a roll of athletic tape from the cabinet on the wall and began taping up his hands. The other trainees began trickling in. Within two minutes all but one of the trainees were standing in a loose circle around the sparring ring. Agent Kingston walked up and, upon seeing Agent Coulson and Barton, smiled.

"Hello Agent Coulson."

"Hello Agent Kingston. I wanted to give Barton some sparring practice."

"He can join our session."

"Thanks."

Agent Kingston raised her voice to address the trainees. "Barton and Evans, you two are sparring first."

Clint hopped into the ring, quickly followed by Evans. As soon as they were both in the ring, Clint attacked. Closing the distance between them, he feinted a punch towards Evans. Caught off balance, Evans twisted to the right and was met by a right hook to his lower jaw. Clint twisted his arm behind his back and knocked his legs out from under him.

"These sessions were getting a bit boring." Agent Kingston whispered in Agent Coulson's ear.

Clint released Evans' arm and walked to the edge of the ring. Evans slipped out of the ring, clutching the arm Barton had pinned to his chest.

"Alright Evans?" Agent Kingston called.

"My arm's hurt." He replied.

"Go to the infirmary."

As Evans left, the last trainee ran in.

"Zachary Taylor, late again." Agent Kingston said, not looking to see who the new arrival was. "You can spar with Barton next."

Trainee Taylor climbed into the ring. More balanced than Evans, he jumped over the crescent kick Barton aimed at his feet. Barton threw several punches at Taylor's head and shoulders, all of which he avoided. Then Barton threw another crescent kick, this time at Taylor's knees. Taylor jumped over it, but landed off balance. Clint chopped his hand towards Taylor's neck, stopping it just before it connected. That should have ended the match, but Taylor didn't like to be defeated. He grabbed Barton's outstretched arm and pulled Barton over his shoulder. Barton rolled smoothly across Taylor's shoulder and landed lightly behind him.

Agent Kingston moved to stop the fight, furious that one of her trainees had done something like that, but Agent Coulson stopped her.

"I want to see what Barton does."

Agent Kingston reluctantly held back and allowed the fight to continue.

Taylor turned, expecting to find Barton on the floor and connected with Barton's fist. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Agent Kingston pointed at two trainees nearest the ring. "Warren, Giles, take Taylor to the infirmary. And please tell Dr. Óir to keep him there until I come talk to him."

Coulson beckoned to Barton. Clint hopped out of the ring and approached Agents Coulson and Kingston.

"I think we'll leave while the rest of your trainees are intact." Coulson said.

He and Barton left as Agent Kingston started her next sparring session.

Coulson lead the way back into the abandoned lower levels of Shield in silence.

"Why are we using the old section of Shield?" Clint asked.

"Most of the rooms are either empty or storage rooms. It's a good place to get some privacy."

"Why not just use one of the usual classrooms?"

"There are a lot of agents who don't like my methods of teaching. They think that the best way to teach is to give work and dole out punishments if the work doesn't get done. I don't agree and I don't want them to try and interfere with my teaching."

Coulson pushed open a door at the end of the hallway to reveal an old training room. It was smaller than the main training room, but featured several sparring mats and a cluster of dusty targets on one wall. Coulson began pushing the old and broken equipment to the edges of the room, to clear off the sparring mat.

"Why don't you grab a broom from the supply closet across the hall and sweep."

Clint ducked out the door and returned a moment later carrying a broom and a dustpan. He started sweeping, pushing everything towards the door.

Clint backed up, breathing hard. Coulson didn't move, standing on the other side of the sparring mat.

"Hit me, I dare you. Use your speed to your advantage."

Clint took a deep breath and launched himself at Coulson, aiming a roundhouse kick at the older man's shoulder. Coulson ducked and pulled Clint's arm behind his back. Clint flipped over Coulson's head and swept his feet around to catch Coulson off balance. Instead, Clint found himself caught in a headlock.

"How will you win a fight like that?" Coulson asked, releasing Clint.

"I proved I can win. I thought the other trainees in the infirmary after sparring proved that." Clint replied, taking a sip from a bottle of purple gatorade.

"You proved you could win against relatively untrained people slightly bigger than yourself. But what about when you're facing someone with twice your training who's three times your size?"

Clint smirked. "I don't play by the rules."

"Dammit Barton. Your nineteen and small for your age. You can't win every fight with brute force or cleverness." Coulson said, louder than he had meant to. He composed himself and continued in a quieter voice. "One day you'll face an opponent who's bigger than you with more training and you won't be able to win by out-clevering him. Your biggest weakness is your impatience." He walked out of the training room, calling backwards over his shoulder, "Go shower and get some food. I'll see you for protocol training after dinner."

"Protocol for dealing with the capture of a Shield agent?" Coulson asked.

"In the event of an agent's capture, the other agents on the mission are to complete the mission and leave. If an extraction team cannot bring the captured agent in, the captured agent's records are to be wiped from Shield databases. All ties between captured agents and Shield are to be severed." Clint stated, his voice making it clear he found the exercise extremely boring.

"Last one. Mission protocol for long distance operatives?"

Clint sighed. "Take out the assigned target. Avoid notice as much as possible. Don't break the rules, don't disobey orders, and don't engage the target unless strictly necessary."

"Nice job, Barton. Although," Coulson continued, a small smirk on his lips "you should make an effort to sound less bored on your final eval."

Clint showed up to their sparring session the next morning covered in sweat.

"Barton, you ready to go?" Coulson asked, tossing a bottle of purple gatorade towards him.

Clint unscrewed the cap and took a long drink before nodding.

He and Coulson slid into the ring, sizing each other up. Clint waited patiently for once, relaxing at the edge of the ring. Coulson struck first and Clint ducked under it, dancing out of reach.

"Good. Now, try and land a hit Barton. Don't be reckless."

Clint ducked under Coulson's next attack and stepped close, getting inside the other man's guard. He swung his fist at Coulson's ribs and a moment later, Coulson was crouched in a fighting stance with his wind knocked out of him. Clint was practically lounging against the side of the sparring circle, not even breathing hard.

Coulson moved suddenly, aiming a kick at the archer's lower legs. His kick didn't connect with anything and he turned, scanning the area for Barton. He didn't see or hear anything until he was facing the back of the room. Then, he caught sight of a pair of hands on the rope that surrounded the mat. Coulson followed the hands upward to find Clint Barton grinning cheekily at him.

"I told you. I don't play by the rules."

He pushed off, doing a backflip off the thin rope like it was a wooden plank. As he landed he moved, sliding behind Agent Coulson. Before Coulson had a chance to turn, Clint had his arms pinned behind his back.

"I give."

Clint released him. Coulson stepped out of the ring and grabbed a bottle of water and taking a sip before he spoke.

"Did I just have to get pissed at you for you to be patient or what?"

"Or what." Clint replied, still grinning.

Coulson noticed the dark circles under Clint's eyes and the tired set to his stance but decided not to comment, since that would only provoke an argument.

"Barton, get cleaned up. Then go get some sleep." Coulson's tone brooked no argument. "We're doing some night time training tonight and I need you to be awake for it."

Coulson left, missing the glare that Clint shot after him. As he walked down the hallway, he pushed a button on the comm in his ear.

"Christian, I need to look at last night's camera footage."

"_Sure thing Coulson. When do you want to come look at them?_"

"I'll be down there in around twenty minutes."

"_I'll have it ready when you get here._"

"Thanks."

"_Do you need anything else while you're down here?_"

"Actually, could you do me a small favor? Can you keep a watch on Barton's room? If he isn't there within an hour, call me."

"_Alright. Listen, I gotta go. I'll see you when you get down here._"

Coulson tapped his comm, severing the connection.

Agent Coulson was greeted by a tall man with brown hair as he entered the security office.

"I pulled up last night's footage on one of the empty viewing screens."

"Thanks Christian."

"I also took a quick look at it while I was setting it up. Barton went into his bunk at lights out with all the other trainees. Then, about an hour later, the camera at the top of the stairwell caught his sneaking onto the roof."

"When did he go back to his bunk?" Coulson asked, frowning.

"He didn't. The cameras have him entering the stairwell from the roof around 2am. After that he shows up at the track a few hours later. I can't figure out how he avoided all the cameras."

"I'll see if I can figure it out." Coulson said.

Coulson sat down and started searching through the footage. He watched as Barton seemed to appear places without having traveled through the halls. It was all just like Christian had said, except for one thing. When Barton walked onto the track, there was something on his arm. Coulson paused it and zoomed in. It was Clint's archery guard.

Coulson let the video resume playing. Clint ran like a man possessed for almost an hour before he left the track.

_What are you trying to do kid?_

_Clint pulled the vent cover into the vent and shoved it to the side. He dropped down to the floor and opened the door to the roof. He crossed the roof while the cameras were turned away and sat down in the only spot the cameras couldn't see, the eastern corner of the Shield facility's roof. Clint used the wind to tether himself to the present and bury his nightmares._

_When Clint left the roof two hours later, the nightmare had faded but the painful memories it had dragged to the forefront of his mind were still crystal clear. He had made a promise to himself, that day in the woods when he was shot. The day Barney had abandoned Clint and left him to die. Clint had promised himself then that he would never rely on or trust someone completely again, not like he had with Barney, and that he would never be weak again. Not being able to win fights made him weak._

_Clint stalked into the old training room, his bow and quiver slung over his shoulder. He stacked several of the boxes that covered the room in the corner next to the door and cleared a path to the cluster of targets on the far wall. Suddenly, Clint brought his bow up and fired an arrow. He fired arrow after arrow until his quiver was empty, then collected the arrows and began again. He emptied his quiver four times before he set aside his bow and removed a pair of throwing knives from their sheaths in his boots. He threw them with the same deadly accuracy as he shot, over and over until the motions were almost automatic._

_Aim_

_Throw_

_Retrieve._

_As Clint kept throwing, his mind started wandering back to the memories his nightmare had dragged forward. Suddenly, the air on the room felt suffocating. Clint re-sheathed his knives and climbed into the air vents. Storing his bow and quiver in the vent, he moved quickly towards the track. Reaching it, he dropped through the vent outside the training room, pulling the cover into place behind him, and started running._

Coulson found Barton after dinner, practicing archery in the old training room they had cleared out.

"You should really get a new glove. That one's wearing out."

Clint released his last arrow and went to collect them. "What is this night training you wanted to do anyway?"

"Have you had dinner?" Coulson asked, avoiding answering the question.

"No."

"Good. We'll go get some decent food then."

Clint followed Coulson to where Shield kept most of their vehicles. He expected Coulson to stop at one of the Shield cars, but he kept walking until he came to a red convertible.

"This is yours?" Clint asked.

Coulson smiled. "Yes."

"Interesting choice. Where are we going for dinner anyways?"

"I was thinking pizza at this little place I know."

Clint sat down in the passenger's seat and Coulson drove out of the parking lot. He pressed a button and the car started flying.

Clint laughed in exhilaration as they flew towards New York City.

"So, why did we go out for pizza?" Clint asked as they walked back into Shield.

"The pizza was just an added bonus. I needed an excuse to take you for a ride in Lola."

"Lola?"

"My car. I wanted to make sure you weren't afraid of heights."

Clint grinned, remembering the exhilaration of flying through the dusk. "Why? I'm pretty sure it's not a standard part of Shield training."

"We have night lessons, remember?" Coulson said, leading the way to the hanger.

"You still haven't told me what we're doing."

Coulson pointed towards one of the Shield quinjets. "At the moment, I'm going to show you how to do pre-flight checks."

Clint moved past Coulson and began pre-flight checks. "I know how to. I've done it before."

_Unusual skill for an assassin._ Coulson thought as he watched Clint work.

"The plane's in good condition." Clint said, having finished the checks.

"Then let's take her up." Coulson replied, leading the way up the ramp at the back and into the plane. He sat down in the pilot's chair and Clint, spying the empty co-pilot's chair, sat down next to him and swung his legs over the side of the chair.

"This is Agent Coulson, codename Watchdog. Cleared for takeoff?"

"You're clear Watchdog."

Clint waited until the jet was in the air before he spoke. "Why are we in a plane?"

"So you can learn how to fly it."

"Why so much secrecy over teaching me to fly a plane?" Clint asked, struggling to contain his excitement.

"There are lots of people at Shield that would be opposed to it. Most of them think I'm already telling you too much information for a trainee, especially a former assassin that is a probationary trainee."

"Then why are you teaching me?"

"I trust you and I think it's hard to succeed if you aren't given all the information you need. Also, it's good for long distance operatives to be able to fly the jets."

Clint stood up and moved behind Coulson's chair. He watched with interest as Coulson began to show him how to fly the plane.

Coulson leaned over Clint's shoulder and pressed a button.

"While we're up here, we're going to have a little chat." Coulson said, sitting down in the co-pilot's chair.

Clint turned the pilot's chair to face Coulson.

"What did you do last night?" Coulson asked.

"Sleep. Same as everyone else."

"Don't lie to me Clint. You were exhausted and sweaty this morning at practice."

"I went for a run before practice. That's all." Clint replied, his eyes giving no hints as to what he had been doing all night.

Coulson sighed. Sometimes this kid was too damn good at keeping secrets. He pulled a flash drive out of his pocket. "If you weren't doing anything last night do you want to explain the security camera footage?"

Clint kept his face blank, but inside his head, his emotions surged. How much did this man know and why the hell did he care so much?

All Clint said was, "Are you spying on me?"

"I just want to know why the other trainees say you're never in your bunk in the mornings."

"I get up early."

"Barton, stop lying to me." Coulson ordered.

"Fine. I couldn't sleep so I decided to workout. Now, tell me something. Why do you care?"

"I'm trying to make you into an agent. I'm also your handler. That makes it my job to care."

"We should really get back to base." Clint said, disabling autopilot and turning to face the controls again.

It was almost laughable, the stupid excuses Coulson had tried to use to pass off spying on him. And yet, a tiny part of Clint wondered if maybe Coulson had been telling the truth. He quickly buried that part and focused on flying the plane back to Shield.

* * *

**Chapter Three. Done. Four more to go. **  
**I realize there are a lot of background OC's in this story. While I'm not normally a big fan of OC's in my stories, a universe does have to be populated and there aren't enough Shield agents that have been introduced in the MCU for me to just use them. **  
**For Clint's backstory, I'm basing it from the little background I found on wikipedia and just taking a few (or more than a few) creative liberties with it.**


	4. Now I know it ain't easy

Coulson sat down at an empty viewing station in the security office.

"Thanks for letting me do this Andrews."

"It's no problem Coulson. Can I ask why you want to monitor the camera footage tonight?"

"It's just for something I'm doing with the agent I'm training." Coulson replied, setting up his screen so he could see the roof, the track, and the hall leading to the old training room.

"I didn't know you were training agents." Andrews said, sitting down in his own chair.

"Special case. A recruit I brought in needed a more personalized training plan."

"Makes sense. Hope everything works out okay with your trainee."

"Thanks." Coulson replied.

He took a sip of his drink as he turned his attention to the screen.

Coulson's eyelids began drooping around midnight. He was used to stakeouts, but he was normally better prepared for them. He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. Cold coffee was one of his least favorite parts of surveillance. He was contemplating whether or not to go make himself a new cup when some sixth sense made him look at the screen. The camera looking at the hallway leading to the old training room showed Barton quietly pushing open the door of the training room. Coulson stood up and left the room, his coffee sitting forgotten on the desk.

Clint bolted awake, his hand wrapped around the handle of his Desert Eagle shotgun. He looked around the room, taking in the boxes of the storage closet as he slowly returned to reality.

Nightmares of Barney and Melody were the worst. He could push away the nightmares about his time as an assassin quickly enough once he was awake and he had found ways to manage most of the others, but the nightmares about Barney and Melody clung to him long after he was awake. They shook him up.

Clint decided he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep anytime soon and began folding his blankets. He tucked them into the corner along with his pillow and his gun. Walking out from behind the pile of boxes that hid his makeshift bed, he quietly pulled open the door open just a little so he could see the hallway. He looked around and, upon seeing no one, stepped out and pulled the door behind him.

Clint walked down the hallway and opened the door to the workout room. He grabbed a pair of twenty-five pound weights. He sat down cross-legged on one of the mats and began curling the weights up and pushing them over his head. By his tenth repetition his arms were beginning to shake, but he kept going. Images of Barney and Melody kept flashing through his head.

Clint pushed the weights over his head for the twentieth time. He held them there for a moment, his arms shaking with exhaustion. Before he could lower them, a pair of hands grasped them and pulled them from his unresisting grip. Footsteps echoed around the quiet training room as the weights were returned to their place on the weight rack and whoever it was came back and crouched in front of Clint. Clint looked up. His eyes met those of Agent Coulson and he sighed.

"Get up." Coulson said.

Clint complied. Coulson grabbed his shoulder in an iron grip and marched him down the hall to room 41. He forced Clint down into one of the beanbag chairs and tossed him a Gatorade and a snack bar from the small fridge in the corner of the room.

Coulson sat down across from Clint.

"Why?" He asked.

"Why what?" Clint replied, staring at the floor.

Coulson put his hand under Clint's chin and gently forced Clint to meet his eyes. "Why do you keep setting yourself on a path to self-destruction?"

"How long were you watching?"

"Long enough. And I know it's not the first time you've done things like this. So tell me, why?"

Clint sat there quietly for several minutes. Coulson stood up, exasperated, and began pacing the room.

"Redemption." When Clint spoke, his voice was so soft that Coulson barely heard him.

Coulson sat down across from Clint again, but he didn't speak.

"I don't think it's even really possible for me to find redemption, but this is my way of trying."

"Barton, you're nineteen. There is no way you can't find redemption. But this-"

Clint cut him off. "You don't understand. I killed one hundred seventy six people in a year and a half. I'm poison, everything I've ever touched falls apart. There isn't any redemption form me. I just kid myself into thinking there is so I can keep going."

"There is redemption, I promise. I'll help you find it. But this, pushing yourself until you collapse, it's not the way." Coulson stood up. "If you like, we can clean out one of the spare rooms and turn it into a bedroom in the morning."

Clint stared at him, caught off guard by the statement.

"You're obviously not sleeping in the trainees' bunks. It wasn't hard to figure out once I looked at the security cameras."

"Thanks." Clint replied, standing up and moving towards the door.

Coulson watched until Clint slipped back into the storeroom, then headed off to his own bed.

Coulson stopped in front of one of the empty rooms that littered the lower levels of Shield.

"We're going to turn this one into your bedroom."

Clint pushed open the door to reveal a mostly empty room. Dust had collected in the corners of the room.

"It'll take a bit of work, but I think you could use a break from lessons. After lunch, we can start cleaning out the room and find a few pieces of furniture."

Clint pulled the door closed behind him and followed Coulson to the workout room. He moved to grab a roll of tape but Coulson stopped him.

"We're going to do a more freestyle sparring today. You have from the sparring mats to the back wall to maneuver."

Almost before he was done speaking, Clint was moving. He snapped a side kick off at Coulson's side, following it with a swift punch. Before Coulson could counterattack, he moved back, standing calmly just out of Coulson's reach.

Coulson smiled to himself as he went on the attack, moving around Clint and trying to force him to spin in order to keep Coulson in sight. Instead, Clint stayed still, listening to Coulson moving behind him. Suddenly he ducked as Coulson's kick swept over his head. Clint gave ground as Coulson launched a series of quick punches at his head and torso.

As he reached the wall, he turned and used the wall to push off, launching himself into the air and flipping neatly over Coulson's head. He landed lightly on the ground and put his arm around Coulson's throat. Coulson tapped his arm, signaling the end of the match.

"Nice. But," He cautioned. "It's risky to let yourself be maneuvered unless you know your surroundings."

"I know my surroundings."

"Now. But when you're in an unfamiliar place, you won't. Go again?"

"Sure." Clint replied, content to let Coulson make the first move this time.

Coulson grabbed a bottle of water off the top of the weights rack and tossed a second one to Clint.

"That's enough for right now. Go get cleaned up and we'll start cleaning and assembling your bedroom."

Clint walked out of the room. Coulson picked up the fan that had gotten knocked over in their last match and turned out the lights before following him.

Coulson opened the door to one of the supply closets where they kept the spare furniture. Looking around, he found a bed frame, mattress, dresser, and nightstand. He loaded them onto the cart he had brought with him and wheeled them back down the hall to where Clint had started to clean out his future bedroom.

"I found some furniture. It's a bit plain, but it'll work for the time being."

Clint looked up, took in the furniture, and tossed Coulson a broom. Coulson caught it out of reflex and began sweeping the room, starting on the opposite side of the room from Clint.

Between the two of them, the work went quickly and within a couple of hours, the room was free of dust and cobwebs.

"Let's put the bed in the middle of the wall." Clint said, noting the air vent just above where he had suggested putting the bed.

He and Coulson pulled the various pieces of the bed frame off the cart and carried them to the middle of the room.

"Do you know how to assemble this?" Clint asked.

"How hard can it be?" Coulson replied.

He began laying out the pieces of the bed frame on the floor so they resembled the general shape of a bed. Coulson took one of the side pieces for the bed and placed it in the correct slot in the headboard. He tried to stand it up and jam the other end of the board into the corresponding slot on the footboard, but when he stood up the headboard, the board fell out of the slot.

Clint laughed as Coulson looked up at him. "Are you planning on helping with this?"

"Eventually. I just have to finish my chocolate bar first." Clint replied, producing a chocolate bar from somewhere.

Several funny mishaps, ten minutes, and a chocolate bar later, the bed was assembled. Clint and Coulson quickly dragged the rest of the furniture into the room. Once the last piece was in place, Clint took a seat on the dresser.

"Dinner?"

Coulson walked through the mostly empty halls and pushed open the door to his bedroom. He was about to sit down on his bed when he noticed the folder and the note lying there. He picked up the note and read it.

_Agent Coulson,_

_You have a mission brief at 2300 hours in my office. Your flight leaves 0200 hours. Do not tell Trainee Barton about your mission. I have arranged for Agent Kingston to cover his training while you are away._

_Director Fury_

Coulson grabbed the folder of the bed and stormed out of his room.

Director Fury opened the door to his office to admit an angry looking Agent Coulson.

"Agent Coulson. You're here for your mission brief, I assume."

Coulson sat down in one of the chairs and dropped the folder on Fury's desk.

"Want to explain this? You know I have one week left of my probationary period as Barton's handler."

"I'll pause your probationary period."

"Why was I assigned this mission?"

"You are the only agent not already on a mission who is cleared for field duty that has both the qualifications and the clearance."

Coulson sighed. "I suppose you ought to go ahead and brief me then."

Agent Coulson knocked on Clint's door, a duffle bag in one hand. After the second knock, Clint opened it, blinking sleepily.

"Sorry it's so late Barton. I want-"

"You're leaving." Clint said, dull resignation in his voice. He walked back into his room, leaving the door open, and sat down on the dresser. Coulson followed him into the room.

"I'm leaving on a mission in a few minutes. Technically, you aren't supposed to know."

"Then why are you telling me?" Clint asked.

"You deserved to know. I didn't want you to think I had abandoned you." Coulson let that sink in for a moment before he continued. "Agent Kingston will be handling your training while I'm away."

"How long will that be?" Clint asked.

"A week, two at the most. I apologize that I can't stay longer and say goodbye properly, but my flight leaves in five minutes. I'll see you in a couple of weeks Barton." With that, Coulson left the room and pulled the door shut behind him.

Clint joined Agent Kingston in one of the classrooms on the main floor. He took a seat in the hard-backed chair on one side of the rectangular table in the middle of the room. Agent Kingston took a seat on the other side of the table and opened the folder she had brought with her.

"Barton, do you speak any languages other than English? Agent Coulson hasn't listed any in your folder." She asked.

"French, Spanish, German, Greek, and Chinese fluently. I also speak a little of the Serbian language, Russian, Latin, and Dutch." Clint replied, staring boredly into space.

Agent Kingston marked down the languages in her folder.

"You certainly seem to have a gift for languages. Why don't you work on learning more of the Serbian language? There should be some books on it in the library." She waited for Clint to respond. When he didn't, she continued. "Director Fury has asked me to give you a field evaluation. What will happen is you will be given a target and a paintball sniper rifle. Your goal is to take out your target and make it back to a safe house without getting caught. We will have several agents in the crowd looking for you."

"Can I use my bow?" Clint asked, drumming a rhythm on the tabletop with his left hand.

"No. We don't have any paintball arrows."

Clint frowned, but didn't say anything.

"You'll get the mission brief tonight. You can take the rest of the day to prepare or you can go study. Dismissed."

Clint stood and walked out of the room, heading for the shooting range.

Clint slipped onto the roof of the building across from his target's house in the predawn light. He pulled out the pieces of his paintball sniper gun and assembled it with quick, deft movements.

As the sun rose, Clint settled down to wait.

Agent Kingston opened the door to the room where Trainee Barton was supposed to meet her. Looking around the empty room, her eyes lit upon the clock. Trainee Barton was late. She sat down in one of the chairs, planning the lecture she was going to give him on being punctual. Several minutes later, her eyes drifted down to rest on the folded sheet of paper lying on the table. She unfolded the paper and frowned.

_Agent Kingston,_

_I decided to head out early to do a bit of surveillance before my training exercise._

_Trainee Barton_

"Dammit!" Kingston tapped her comm. "I want the agents participating in today's training exercise ready to go in five minutes. And someone find Trainee Evans, and tell him he's coming too."

Around nine o'clock, Clint noticed a pair of agents join the crowd. A few minutes later, one of the Shield trainees slipped into the crowd, trying and failing to be unnoticed. Clint smiled. This was going to be fun.

He turned his attention back to the window of the apartment as a flicker of movement caught his eye. His target had opened the window and was sitting on the couch, apparently watching something on TV. Clint slipped a silencer onto his rifle and aimed. He pulled the trigger and a second later a splatter of bright pink paint bloomed on the side of the target's head. With a few quick twists, he disassembled the gun.

Clint ran along the rooftops for several blocks, staying low to the roof. When he was far enough away, he climbed down the fire escape of the building he was on and joined the busy crowd, slinging his quiver over his shoulder as he did.

Clint activated his comm as he stepped into a small shop.

"Agent Kingston."

A moment later, she responded.

"_Trainee Barton. To what do I owe the pleasure?_"

"I'd like to make a slight change to the training exercise."

"_Besides the ones you already made, I assume._"

Clint ignored her comment and continued. "I'd like to extend it to nightfall."

"_You want to try to evade our agents until nightfall? I suppose we can do that if you want._"

Clint cut the comm connection and turned to look at the shop. It was a costume shop. Outfits lined every wall, ranging from sumo wrestler to fairy. He walked toward the door, intending to leave quickly before Kingston had her people trace where he had talked with her from. Then, a green cape and brown jerkin caught his eye. A plan began to form in his mind as he walked over to inspect the clothes.

Clint stepped out of the store and slung his quiver over his shoulder. The black of his quiver contrasted sharply with the spring green of his new cape. He pulled the hood over his head and moved through the crowd in the direction of the park. After about fifty feet he became aware of someone following him. He looked down and pretended to notice that his shoe was untied. He moved off to the side and dropped into a crouch to tie his shoe. His pursuer stopped beside him and crouched.

"Do you need any help?"

Clint turned to face the man. Until that point, the hood had been casting shadow on Clint's face. Now, the man was able to clearly see it. He reached towards his ear to activate his comm, but a tap on his chest stopped him. Clint had pulled out a chalky training knife and tapped it against the man's chest. The knife was a blunt one normally used in practice knife fights, but it would serve the same purpose as a paintball gun.

"You're dead. And careless. Be sure to tell Agent Kingston how you decided to approach a target without knowing whether or not they were armed."

Clint and the other man both stood up. Clint watched for a moment as the man walked away before rejoining the crowd himself.

Several hours passed without incident. Around noon, Clint wandered into a small cafe. He got a sandwich and a cup of coffee and sat down at a table in the back corner. He was almost finished with his meal when young woman approached his table.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I couldn't help but notice your quiver. Are you on an archery team?"

"I'm actually just going to a convention."

"So those are just props?" She asked, sounding disappointed.

"No, they're real enough. I'm a traveling performer and I use archery in some of my tricks. It's just that today, I'm going to a convention. If you happen to be at the park around five o'clock you might see me performing though."

"Maybe I will."

The girl walked away. Clint downed the rest of his coffee. He tossed his trash in the trashcan and left the shop.

Around five o'clock Clint found himself in the middle of the small park on the outskirts of town, just a couple of blocks away from the rendezvous spot for the training exercise. He spotted an agent walking through the park close by. Glancing around, he spotted the girl from the cafe. He made his way over to her.

"I don't think I caught your name earlier. I'm Aiden Smythson by the way." Clint said, extending a hand for her to shake.

"Faith Angel." She replied, shaking his hand.

"I'm just about to start my show. Care to watch?"

"I'd love to."

Faith followed Clint to a clear space in the busy park. Clint pulled out his bow and strung it in one smooth motion. He selected an arrow from his quiver and fired it into the air. It flew high into the air and the tip burst open in a shower of confetti. He fired several more arrows off into the sky, where the tips burst in a shower of multi-colored sparks that shone brightly in the gathering dusk. The sparkles attracted a small crowd of people. Clint launched himself into a series of flips, earning a round of applause from the crowd. Glancing up at the sky, Clint watched as the sun dipped below the horizon.

"And, for my last trick," He called. "I will disappear!"

An agent in the crowd moved forward, trying to stop Clint. Before he could, Clint fired an arrow with a small cylindrical canister attached to the shaft. The arrow arced high into the air. As it began its descent, a thick smoke burst forth from the canister, concealing Clint from view. Hidden by the smoke, Clint fired a second arrow, this one with a rope tied around it, into the branches of a tree on the outside edges of the crowd. He jumped and grabbed the rope. Pulling himself up, he glided over the heads of the people watching. Distracted by the smoke as they were, no one noticed as he landed softly on a low hanging branch of the tree. Clint fired another spark arrow towards the opposite side of the crowd as the smoke started to clear. By the time the smoke had cleared completely, Clint was long gone, leaving no clues to how he had disappeared.

Clint dropped lightly onto the roof of the safe house. He crept lightly down the steps to the second floor, where Agent Kingston's office was located. When he reached the door, he waited for a few moments, then knocked on the door. Agent Kingston pulled it open.

"Trainee Barton." She said, keeping her voice carefully neutral. "Come inside and I'll debrief you."

Clint took a seat across from her at her desk.

"Where's your sniper equipment? You were instructed to return with it, after all."

In answer, Clint pulled several pieces out of his quiver. With a few deft twists, he assembled them into his paintball sniper rifle.

Keeping her face carefully blank, Agent Kingston said, "Your mission went off without a hitch. None if the agents in the crowd we're able to catch you or link you to the 'shooting'."

"That's my job." Clint said cheekily.

"Points will probably be deducted from your score for making up your own rules. There is a car outside that'll take you back to Shield."

"Thanks, but I'll find my own way back."

Clint left Agent Kingston's office and took the stairs back to the roof. He grabbed a spare set of arrows from where he had hidden them that morning and, putting them in his quiver, he leapt off the roof. He grabbed one of the branches that grew close to the roof and allowed his momentum to swing him around the branch until he was able to land on the top of the branch in a crouch. He stood and started to make his way back to Shield.

"What are your thoughts on him?" Director Fury asked.

"Physically, Trainee Barton is one of the best assets I've seen. He's strong, fast, agile, everything that we look for in our assets." Agent Kingston said. "Mentally, I'm not sure. He's reckless and unwilling to play by the rules. During our training exercises he tries to change the rules as he goes."

"He has issues with authority." Director Fury said.

"Some. I think that with the right handler, he could be one of our best agents. But…"  
"But what?"

"He doesn't work well with others."

"He has a few months left in his probationary period. If we can't find some way to either fix his issues or work around them, then we'll just terminate his association with Shield at the end of it."

* * *

**Good luck to everyone who has exams tomorrow.**


	5. I've seen how heartless,The world can be

Two weeks later

* * *

Clint watched through the air vent as a small group of high clearance agents assembled in Director Fury's office. They chatted for a few moments, until all at once they fell silent. Clint strained, trying to see what had caused them to fall silent.

"I asked you all to come here so we could discuss what to do about the situation in Serbia." Director Fury said. He was still out of Clint's line of sight, despite Clint's best efforts to see him. "As I'm sure you all know, we haven't received any communication from Agent Coulson in over a week. His last message indicated that his cover had been blown. In light of this information, we have to assume that he was captured."

A few cries of shock and frustration went up from the assembled agents as they heard this. Agent Coulson was regarded as one of the best agents Shield had.

"As the council has repeatedly informed me, we don't have enough agents to attempt to extract him. We will just have to hope he can manage on his own. The issue at hand however, is what we should do about Serbia. The trading ring Agent Coulson was sent to investigate is still running. We need to shut it down."

"Which agents are being sent on the mission?" One of the agents asked.

"That's why you all are here. The mission is more dangerous than our intel led us to believe. None of our field agents have all the skills needed for the mission."

Clint caught a glimpse of Director Fury's hand as he passed a folder to each of the agents.

"Since we don't have any agents who meet all the requirements, I'm asking for volunteers. I would prefer not to have to choose agents myself, but I will if I have to."

Agent Kingston spoke up. "What about Barton? He has the necessary skills, if not the clearance level."

"Trainee Barton is a probationary trainee. And even if he wasn't on probation, he is still just a trainee."

"Send him as a part of a team then. I hate sending a trainee on a mission as much as the next person, but we need someone with his skill set." Agent Collins said.

"I don't trust Barton. Certainly not on such a high profile mission." Fury responded.

Clint didn't wait to hear the rest of the meeting. He slipped quietly backwards for a few feet before he turned and headed toward his room as fast as he could.

* * *

Clint threw a black t shirt and jeans into his pack. A first aid kit landed on top of them a few moments later as he tossed that into the pack as well. Clint stepped onto his bed and removed the vent cover. He pulled himself into the air duct and crawled a few feet to the left until he came to a junction in the vent shaft. In the open space, Clint had stored a variety of weapons. He considered his mini armory for a moment. Eventually, he decided on a pair of Desert Eagles with silencers, a pair of smoke grenades, and an assortment of knives, including his favorite, a long knife with a simple leather wrapped handle and a long blade made of blue steel. At the last second, he also grabbed his sniper rifle. It wasn't his favorite weapon, but he had a feeling he would be needing it if things didn't work out.

Clint crawled back to his room and set all the weapons down on his bed one by one before dropping down himself.

Clint strapped a knife sheath on either forearm, but tucked the knives into an outside pocket of his pack. He stuck the guns and the smoke grenades under his folded clothes, before laying the pieces of his sniper rifle on top of everything else in the pack. Clint shrugged into a dark leather jacket, and, after making sure it was securely closed, swung his pack over one shoulder. He stepped out of the room and turned to close the door. Just before the door latched shut, he grabbed his worn copy of _The Hobbit_ and tucked it into his pack.

* * *

Clint slowed as one of the night guards called to him.

"Hey kid, where're you headed?"

"Training exercise." Clint said, infusing as much confidence as he could into his voice.

"Night training? That sucks, kid. Just give me your name and you can be on your way."

"Barton."

"Good luck Barton."

The guard opened the gate and Clint slipped through. By the time he was a few feet away, he was practically invisible. He ghosted through the shadows until he reached the road. There, he called a cab to take him into the city.

Twenty minutes later, Clint found himself at the back fence of one of Stark Industries private airfields. He tightened the straps on his pack as he sized up the back fence. Once the guard had passed around the corner, Clint approached the fence at a run and jumped, catching the fence about halfway up and quickly scaling the rest of the distance. He paused at the top as another guard made his rounds. For a moment, Clint thought the guard would look up and see him silhouetted against the night sky, but the moment passed and the guard moved on. Clint climbed down the fence, dropping the last few feet.

He crept across the open space between the fence and the hangar, ready to freeze at any sign of movement. Everything went smoothly though, and Clint slipped inside the hangar. After a quick look around, he settled on one of the smaller jets. He quickly ran through his preflight checks, a flashlight clenched between his teeth providing the only light. Once he finished, he opened the door to the cockpit and tossed his pack inside, except for one knife which he slid into the sheath strapped to his forearm. On his way in, he had taken note of the switch that opened the hangar doors. He flipped the switch and raced back to the plane, throwing himself into the pilot's seat as the hangar doors creaked open, alerting everyone to his presence. Clint could see guards racing towards him as he taxied down the runway. Unable to resist, he threw a cheeky two fingered salute as the plane lifted off the ground. He heard several cracks as guards fired their guns at the plane. Then, he was clear of the airfield and flying through the still air towards Europe.

* * *

After he had been in the air for several hours, Clint put the plane on an autopilot course to Serbia and slipped into the back of the plane. It was a typical luxury jet, with sectional seats lining the back on two sides and a counter on the third side. After he finished his brief inspection, Clint used some spare blankets he had found to hang a makeshift hammock in the corner over the couch. He set a timer on his phone to wake him up an hour before the plane would arrive in Serbia and vaulted into the hammock. Within minutes he was asleep, the long night finally catching up to him.

* * *

Clint woke to the quiet trilling of his phone's alarm. He shut it off and ducked into the cockpit to see how long he had till the plane was in Serbian airspace. Satisfied he had time, Clint returned to the main part of the plane and ran through a few basic stretches. After he finished them, he grabbed a broom that was tucked into a storage panel at the back of the plane and twisted off the head. With the broom handle, he cleared a space in the middle of the plane's floor. Clint moved to the center of the clear space, holding the broom handle across his chest like a staff and silently counted to four. Then, he swung the staff out and spun it in a circle. The momentum gave the swing power as he swept it low across the ground and up into the air until it came level with his head. Clint moved the staff more and more quickly until he was engaged in a complex dance of spins and thrusts. He kept this up for several minutes, until a noise on the radio in the cockpit forced him to stop. As he tossed the staff onto his cot, the noise from the radio sharpened into a voice.

"We do not have this flight on record. Please identify yourself."

Clint ignored the request and settled into the pilot's chair.

"If you do not identify yourself, we will treat you as hostile and act accordingly."

Clint tightened his hands on the controls.

"You have ten seconds to identify yourself! 10…9...8...7"

"_You have qualities we look for in our assets._" Coulson's words flitted through Clint's head.

"6...5...4"

Clint took a deep breath and prepared to fly for his life.

"3...2...1"

A pair of missiles appeared on the screen. The plane barrel rolled to the left before spiraling upward as Clint manipulated the controls to avoid the missiles. The missiles kept tight to his tail as he twisted the plane one way and another. As he flew over a forest, he managed to run one of the missiles into a tree. The other stayed no more than ten feet behind him as he maneuvered the plane as wildly as he dared, sometimes twisting and turning, sometimes diving towards the ground before pulling up and climbing high into the sky. Spotting a cliff off to the left, Clint angled the plane and flew directly at it. At the last second, he pulled up and soared straight up the cliff face. Unable to match his dexterity, the missile exploded on the cliff face.

Clint landed the plane on the top of the cliff. Grabbing his bag, he slid out as soon as the plane stopped. With a few dead branches, Clint made an attempt to camouflage the plane so it wouldn't be obvious exactly what it was.

Clint paid for a burner phone at the corner store. He punched in a number and sat down on a bench outside, pinching the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he adjusted a knife hidden in a sheath sewn into the strap of his pack.

"Hey! Benny boy. How ya been?" Clint called into the phone, giving his voice a low, gravelly quality.

"I've been good. Haven't seen you around lately though Adam. Where ya been this last year?"

"Here and there. My work requires me to travel a lot. Listen, I need a favor."

"Anything. After that shoot out in Albuquerque, I owe you."

"I need that box I left at your house."

"Sure. You need a room? My brother and I run an inn."

Clint hesitated.

"We have the space and it wouldn't be any trouble."

"Alright. I'll take a room for one night. And I need one other thing."

"Sure. What?"

"I'll tell you when I get there."

Clint listened as Benny gave him the address before hanging up and tossing the phone in the trash. He slid his favorite knife into a hip sheath and started walking towards the Adaer brothers' inn.

A tall man with an unruly shock of blond hair smiled as he opened the door.

"Adam Quinn! What took you so long?"

"I had to stop for supplies." Clint replied, holding his bag up. "Nice to see you too Benny."

Benny moved to take Clint's bag, but Clint held up a hand to forestall him.

"I get my own bag Benny. You know that."

"And you still carry that damn bow too. Not much has changed, has it?"

Clint shrugged noncommittally and followed Benny into the building.

"So, the box is in your room. What was the other thing you needed?"

"Who's the best hacker you know?"

"That'd be my brother, Marko. Why?"

"I need him to help me with a project. Don't worry, no one will be able to trace it back to him."

"Get some lunch, then you can work on this project of yours. Your room is number eleven." Benny said, tossing Clint the key. Clint caught it and bounded up the stairs. After a brief inspection of his rooms, revealing a modest bedroom, a bathroom, and a mini kitchen, Clint dropped his bag on the bed and opened the box. Inside were a few stacks of cash, in several different currencies. Underneath the money was a gun and multiple false identities. Clint pushed aside the cash and the gun and focused on the fake identities. He looked through them, glancing at the name on each passport before tossing it aside. Glen Cauldon, Edward Andrews, James Bradley. Finally, he settled on Ian Summers, a British university student. Tucking the driver's license and passport into his pocket, he closed the box and set it on the dresser. He shoved his bag under the bed and locked the door behind him as he headed downstairs to find Marko.

"So can you do it?" Clint asked.

"You do realize you are asking me to hack a secure line at an intelligence organization and then route it through a homemade radio, right?" Benny's brother Marko said, swiveling his chair to face Clint.

Clint ignored the question. "If you can't, I'll find someone else."

"Done insult my skills!" Marko snapped. "I can do it. I just want to make sure you know what you're doing."

"Do it." Clint ordered, his voice having an unusual sharpness to it.

He paced back and forth in the confines of the small room as he waited. Finally Marko said, "Dude, you're making me nervous. Go find something else to do and let me concentrate. I'll come find you when I'm done."

Clint stalked out of the room, heading for the small backyard as he pulled a pair of knives free of their sheaths.

* * *

A few hours later, a disheveled Marko found Clint sitting sulkily in his room. He was holding _The Hobbit_, staring at a random point in the book without really reading it.

"I'm done." Marko said, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"Does it work?"

"It damn well should! I spend hours bypassing layers of security so I could plant a permanent link. And then I had to route it through that piece of crap you call a radio so it was portable!"

"Thanks." Clint said, standing up and taking the radio from Marko.

Marko turned and left. Clint pulled his bag out from under the bed and tucked the radio into one of the outside pockets. He slid _The Hobbit_ in with it and slid the bag back under the bed. As a last minute thought, Clint placed a penny above the door as a way to know if anyone entered his room. That done, Clint locked the door and plastered a smile on his face as he went to join Benny and Marko for dinner.

* * *

Agent Kingston knocked on the door to Director Fury's office. She waited in silence for a few minutes before Fury called out in a frustrated voice, "Since you haven't gone away, I'm assuming this is important."

Agent Kingston stepped into Fury's office and shut the door tightly behind her. "It's about Barton. He's gone."

Fury pinched the bridge of his nose. "What do you mean gone?"

"He left last night. Charlie was on duty last night. He saw Barton leave. Apparently, Barton told him he had night training."

"Do you know where he went?" Fury asked.

"There's nothing definite - He's good at covering his tracks - but we think he went to try and get Coulson out."

"How the hell did he know where to find Agent Coulson?" Fury demanded, his voice rising in volume.

"We don't know sir."

"Find him. And make sure to keep this quiet. Level seven clearance."

"Yes sir."

Fury shuffled several papers around on his desk before he found the one he wanted. Agent Kingston turned and left, hurrying through the halls to the security office.

* * *

As the sounds of activity around the inn faded, Clint slipped quietly out of his bed. Grabbing a pen and a piece of paper, he scribbled a brief note to Benny.

_Benny,_

_Sorry I couldn't stay for breakfast. I have urgent business to attend to though. Please keep my box safe for me. I'll look you up next time I'm in town and we can go out for a drink._

_Adam Quill_

He set the note on top of the box full of fake identities. Pulling his bag from under the bed, he slipped it over his head so it hung securely against his back. A moment later, his quiver, with the unstrung bow inside, joined the bag in lying against his back. With a spare knife, Clint propped open the window. Carefully, he maneuvered himself until he was balanced on the outside window frame. He grabbed the knife, letting the window slide shut.

Clint looked down, evaluating the drop. Not seeing anything too bad below him, he jumped, taking the two story drop with ease. Without a backwards glance, he took off running at an easy, ground eating lope.

* * *

**I know I'm posting this kinda early, but I'm not going to have internet access tonight, so if I don't post it now it won't get posted. Hope you enjoy it. **  
**Kind of a side note: Tony does control Stark Industries at this point (alongside of Obadiah Stane).**


	6. You felt like it's hopeless

Clint pulled up to the edge of the compound in his hotwired car. It was a risk, he knew, but he might need a quick escape route. He slid knives into all his sheaths, right down to the one in his boot, and slid a gun into his holster. A set of lockpicks went into his pocket, and another was hidden in the bottom of his quiver. He shouldered his quiver and, bow in hand, crept toward the compound. A few feet from the main building, he stopped, hidden behind a cluster of bushes. He looked at the wall, his trained eyes sweeping it for entrance points and weak spots. Spotting a vent at the back of the building, Clint crept slowly forwards. When he reached the vent, he pulled the cover off, freezing as it made a grating sound. Several minutes passed without anyone coming to investigate. Glad for the lax security, Clint pulled himself into the vent shaft and replaced the cover loosely behind him. He crawled forward slowly, careful to make as little noise as possible.

Eventually, he came across a vent looking down into one of the rooms. It looked like a bedroom, with bunks crammed closely together in order to fit as many as possible. Clint was considering removing the vent and taking a better look around the room when he heard the door creak open. He pushed himself backwards with his hands until he wasn't visible through the vent cover and watched as a line of children in worn out clothing were herded into the room by a tall, dark haired man wearing a blue pinstripe suit. The man left the room and Clint followed him from his position in the vents. He tracked the man through the building to a room on the opposite side of the compound from the children. Peering through the small vent set in the wall, Clint watched as the man in the suit stopped just inside the door.

"Are you ready to tell us who sent you?"

"Never!" It took all of Clint's training to keep him from gasping as Coulson answered.

A loud smack echoed through the room. Although Clint couldn't see him, he assumed there was another man there, and that the unseen man had just smacked Coulson.

"Who sent you?"

Coulson didn't reply and received another slap for his silence.

"Tell me who sent you, or I'll have James snap your wrist." The man's voice was collected and frighteningly cold.

Clint managed to maneuver himself so he could see Coulson tied to a chair in the center of the room.

"It doesn't matter what you do to me. I'll never tell you." Coulson replied. Clint could see that his jaw was bruised and swollen.

Another man, presumably James, enter Clint's vision and grabbed Coulson's wrist. At a nod from the man in the suit, he snapped it. Clint could hear the unmistakable sound of bone breaking and bit his cheek to keep himself focused.

"I'll be back. And if I were you, I'd tell me what I want to know. Otherwise, you'll have more than your wrist to worry about." With that the suited man strode from the room. James followed behind like an obedient dog and Clint heard the lock on the door click into place. He waited for several minutes to make sure no one was coming back. Hearing no one, he slipped the vent out of place and poked his head through the opening.

"Agent Coulson." He whispered.

Agent Coulson looked up, his eyes roaming the room for a minute before coming to rest on the vent, where Clint's eyes glowed slightly in the semi-dark room.

"Barton. What are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you."

"You're going to get yourself killed."

"No. No one is dying tonight. Except maybe the guys running this thing."

Coulson stared at him for a minute, trying to decide if Clint knew what he was doing. Eventually, he nodded.

"Now that that's settled, here's what we're going to do."

* * *

Clint quietly unscrewed the vent cover in the hallway in front of Coulson's room. He pulled the cover up until he could slide it into the shaft across from him. Laying an arrow across his bow, he dropped down into the hallway. There was no one in the hall as Clint shouldered his bow and set to work picking the lock. Within a minute, he was in. He eased open the door, not wanting it to make a sound and give him away. Slipping inside, Clint turned to face Coulson.

"You look like crap." Clint said, pulling a knife from his boot and cutting through Coulson's bonds. He shrugged out of his jacket and, after removing all the knives, used it to create a makeshift sling for Coulson's arm. "Did you know there were kids being kept here?"

"How many?" Coulson asked. Clint could hear the pain in his voice, but didn't say anything as he finished tying off the sling.

"I saw about ten. There could be more though." He pulled Coulson's uninjured arm around his shoulder and pulled the other man to his feet. "I'll boost you up into the vent shaft. It's not ideal, but we can't risk detection."

They stepped out into the hallway. Clint laced his fingers together into a step. With more strength than his lean frame suggested, he pushed upwards Coulson towards the vent shaft. Coulson grabbed the edge with his uninjured hand and pulled himself slowly into the shaft.

"Wait for me at the first turn. I have to do one thing and then I'll join you." Clint ordered, pulling his lock picks out of his pants pocket and beginning to relock the door. Satisfied, the lock was firmly in place, he pulled himself up into the vent shaft and screwed the cover back into place. He caught up to Agent Coulson quickly. They crawled along in silence, only broken by Clint's occasional whispered directions. They reached the vent and positioned themselves on either side of it so they could look into the children's room.

"Do you have a plan?" Clint asked.

"What supplies do you have?"

"Knives, my bow and a quiver full of arrows. Oh, and a pickup truck parked on the edge of the compound."

"Good. I'll get the children up into the vent shaft. Once they're here, take them to the truck and be ready to go. I'll follow behind."

"That's a good plan except for one thing."

"And what's that?"

"I'll go in. You drive the truck."

"Barton, I can't allow a trainee to do such a dangerous operation."

Clint smiled dangerously. "You're not allowing me to do anything. You just can't stop me."

Before Coulson could reply, Clint had removed the vent cover and dropped down into the children's room.

"Shh… I'm going to get you out of here." He said as the children stared at him. "My friend is waiting up there. He's going to lead you to a truck and take you far away from here."

"Who are you?" One little girl asked, her voice quivering.

"Clint." Raising his voice a little so he could address everyone, he continued, "Here's how this is going to work. I'm going to boost you up into the vent shaft. Once you're outside, you're going to run for the pickup truck on the edge of this compound. Don't look back, no matter what you hear. If need be, the older kids can carry some of the younger ones."

He began ushering them into a line, trying to get them to move quickly and quietly.

"Agent Coulson, I'm going to start boosting kids up now." He whispered.

Agent Coulson gave him a thumbs up and Clint locked his hands together to form a step. One by one all the kids were lifted into the shaft. Just before he boosted the last kid up, a girl who seemed to be about sixteen, and whispered, "Once everyone is in the truck, you all need to leave. Agent Coulson probably won't want to until I'm there. I don't care if you have to lie and say I'm in the truck bed, just make sure you all get out of here. I'll meet up with you all in town." He boosted her up into the shaft and tugged the vent cover back into place.

"What are you going to do?" She asked, her face distorted by the vent cover.

Clint nocked an arrow. "I'm going to buy you some time."

* * *

Agent Coulson slid into the driver's seat and started up the engine. The last child sat next to him in the passenger's seat.

"That's Barton's seat."

"Clint's in the truck bed with some of the kids. He asked me to tell you to get us out of here." Coulson hesitated for just a moment before turning the truck around and heading towards the main road as fast as he could without drawing attention to them.

"I'm Gracie the way."

* * *

Clint kicked open the double doors and marched into the lounge he had spotted while he was following the man in the suit. Several of the men inside dropped their cards in surprise as he marched in, aiming his arrow at them.

"Where is Alexander Messino?" Clint demanded.

One of the men started forward, pulling a gun from his waistband. Not missing a beat, Clint drew his bow and fired an arrow. At the last second, he moved the aim from the man's heart to his shoulder. The arrow buried itself in the man's shoulder and he stumbled backward, falling into one of the newly vacated chairs. Before anyone could blink, Clint had another arrow nocked.

"I'm not going to ask again; where is Alexander Messino?"

"Right here." The man in the suit replied, stepping through a door on the opposite side of the room. "I seem to be at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don't know yours." He continued in a honeyed voice.

Clint didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he leveled his arrow at Alexander's chest.

"You have two options here. You can either order your men to strip down to their underpants and sit down in these chairs, or I can shoot you all right now."

Mr. Messino made a signal at his men and they complied with Clint's orders, the injured man complaining the entire time. Clint grabbed several lengths of rope. He tied Alexander's hands and feet together. With the rest of the rope, he tied Alexander's men to their chairs.

"You and I are going to take a little trip." Clint said as he cut a strip from the tablecloth with his knife.

"Is a blindfold really necessary?"

"Yes." Clint replied, his voice hard and emotionless as he tied the blindfold around Alexander's head. Spotting a pair of keys hanging on a hook by the door, Clint grabbed them and led Alexander outside. After a few tries, he found the car the keys belonged to. He shoved Alexander into the back seat. Sitting down in the driver's seat, he gunned the engine and took off for the Shield base a few miles outside of town.

* * *

When Agent Sitwell stepped outside to take a walk, he was greeted by a strange sight. Bound, gagged, blindfolded, and tied to the bike rack with a length of rope was Alexander Messino. Duct taped to his forehead was a note:

'_This is Alexander Messino. He is the leader of the trading ring your Agent Coulson was sent to shut down. Their headquarters are about ten miles southeast from here. They were trading children made orphans by the war for guns and money._

_ Hawkeye_

_P.S. Next time, don't give your agents such crappy intel.'_

Sitwell smiled. Whoever this Hawkeye was, he had just done Shield a favor. Sitwell pulled a knife from his sheath and cut the rope connecting Alexander to the bike rack.

"Come on, Mr. Messino. I'm sure you have lots to tell us." He started towards one of the interrogation rooms. He had only gone a few feet before he stopped, curiosity getting the better of him.

"What did the guy who caught you look like?" Sitwell asked, loosening the gag slightly so Mr. Messino could answer.

"He had light brown hair and stormy grey eyes and he carried a bow."

Sitwell chuckled. "I'd heard the arrow assassin, Hawkeye, had gone straight. Guess the rumors were wrong."

"Please sir. I don't know why I'm -" Alexander began in a honeyed voice.

"Save it." Sitwell replied, replacing the gag and resuming his walk towards the interrogation rooms.

* * *

Clint ditched the borrowed car on the outskirts of town and jogged the few blocks to Coulson's safe house. Seeing the truck already parked in front of the small house, Clint went around back and pushed the window open just enough for him to slip inside. He found himself in a small bedroom. Quickly, he grabbed the first aid kit from the closet. Easing the door to the main room open, Clint walked through, trying to be inconspicuous. He looked around the room and saw the children they had rescued sleeping on the various couches and chairs. Agent Coulson was sitting at the kitchen table, staring off into space. Clint hesitantly walked over to the table and set down the first aid kit.

"Do you want me to take a look at your wrist now?"

"You lied to me."

Clint sighed. He really didn't want to be having this conversation now - or ever. "I knew you wouldn't want to leave unless I was there."

"You're damn right. You're my trainee, which makes you my responsibility."

"We never would have made it out without a distraction. I was the least valuable person there, it made sense for me to be it."

Coulson fell silent as Clint said this. Clint pulled a roll of gauze and a brace out of the first aid kit. He gently pulled Coulson's arm out of the makeshift sling. Picking up the gauze, he wrapped it loosely around Coulson's wrist. With a piece of tape, he secured the end in place, before carefully placing his S.O.'s wrist in the brace.

"Do you know if there are any slings here?" Clint asked.

"There should be one under the bathroom sink." Coulson replied distractedly.

Clint returned a moment later carrying several damp cloths and a sling. He set the cloths on the table and fastened the sling over Coulson's shoulder. Coulson slipped his arm into place and picked up a cloth from the table.

"You weren't the least valuable person there, you know."

"I was, actually. You are one of Shield's best agents. I'm just an ex-mercenary with red in my ledger."

"You don't think I have red in my ledger? You don't think every damn person in this organization doesn't have red in their ledgers?"

"That's different. You all might have a little red; a failed mission here, a slip up there. Those you can wipe out. But my ledger… my ledger is full of red. You can't wipe out that much red."

For the first time, Coulson caught a glimpse of Clint without all his walls in place. He could see how much the younger man's dark past bothered him. The odd conversation he had had with Barton during one of Barton's midnight workouts was starting to make more sense.

"You should get cleaned up. We need to be out of Serbia before dawn." Clint said brusquely.

"How do you propose we do that? A group as large as ours is bound to be noticed." Coulson replied, part of him grateful for the subject change.

"I have a plane stashed nearby. It should get us as far as London. I have an… acquaintance there who should be able to help us."

Coulson shook his head, smiling. Barton never ceased to amaze him. He started cleaning dried blood from a cut along the side of his face with the cloth. Clint picked up the other cloths and the first aid kit and began cleaning and bandaging the children's cuts and scrapes, doing his best not to wake them. When he was finished, he stood and tossed the dirty cloths into the trashcan.

"Does Shield usually keep food in their safe houses?" Clint asked.

"A few non-perishables; bottled water, granola bars, things like that."

"I'll be back." Clint said. He left, pulling the door shut behind him.

Twenty-five minutes later, Clint returned, carrying a bag of warm muffins. As the delicious smell wafted through the small house, the children began to wake up. Clint pulled a stack of napkins from the bag and passed out the muffins. He sat down on the countertop and took a bite of his muffin, savoring the flavor of melted chocolate. Once everyone had finished eating, Clint stood.

"Time to go."

* * *

The plane leveled out at 30, 000 feet. Glancing at the compass, Clint banked left. Satisfied they were on the right course, he relaxed a bit and pulled a coin from his bag. Absently, he began rolling it over the backs of his fingers as he stared out the window.

"Neat trick." Coulson said, taking a seat in the co-pilot's chair.

"You pick up lots of things working for the circus." Clint replied without glancing at Coulson.

"Where'd you get the plane?" Coulson asked. "It's not one of Shield's."

"I 'borrowed' it from Stark Industries."

"Why didn't you use one of Shield's quinjets?"

Clint didn't respond. Instead, he twisted his chair, so his back was mostly to Coulson and kept rolling the foreign coin back and forth across his knuckles.

"Barton, why didn't you use one of Shield's quinjets?" Coulson asked, hints of suspicion and worry tinging his voice.

"I don't want to have this conversation right now." Clint replied.

Coulson heard the exhaustion in his voice and his face softened. "You should get some sleep."

"I'm fine."

"It wasn't really a suggestion Barton. The plane is on auto-pilot and I'll wake you up if anything happens."

Too tired to argue, Clint leaned his head back and almost immediately fell asleep.

* * *

Clint had been asleep for about two hours when Coulson noticed a change. He was muttering things under his breath and shaking his head like he was trying to get rid of something. Coulson leaned forward and placed his uninjured hand on Clint's shoulder. At his touch, Clint jolted awake.

"Who's Melody?" Coulson asked, sitting back in his chair.

"My sister." Seeing the unspoken question on Coulson's face, he continued. "She's dead."

"I'm sorry."

Clint just took the plane off autopilot and focused on flying.

* * *

**I posted this last night, but Fanfiction decided to glitch and replace the body with a few lines of code, so sorry about that. Anyway, here is Chapter 6. Chapter 7 will be up soon. **


	7. I look for reasons, But I don't need 'em

The plane touched down in London. Clint was the first one out, carrying his bag over one shoulder. Spotting his acquaintance waiting for him, he walked over to her.

"Monsieur Charles, it is good to see you." She said in a heavy French accent.

"It's good to see you too Julie."

"I must admit, I was intrigued when you called me. You said you had some people you wanted me to meet."

"Yeah." Clint gestured behind him to where Agent Coulson was standing with the children. "They're war refugees. Orphans. I was hoping you could put them in foster care, if you still work in the system."

"I can. If I may ask, why are you transporting war refugees?"

"Work." He replied tersely. "Just make sure they find good foster homes."

She nodded. "Of course."

"Thanks Julie."

Clint rejoined Agent Coulson. Addressing the children, he said, "This is Julie. She's going to find you homes."

From the back of the group, Gracie spoke. "That's what the last people said. How do we know she's not just going to use us?"

"Do you trust me?"

Most of the kids nodded.

"I trust her. She's going to help you."

Seeming satisfied, the children followed Julie to her car. Clint waved as she drove away. Once they were gone, Clint turned to face Coulson.

"Will you please tell me why you didn't use one of Shield's quinjets to come here?" Coulson demanded.

Clint sighed, knowing it was impossible to avoid the conversation any longer. "Fine. But we should get some coffee first." He led the way to a small cafe a few blocks away. Once they were seated at an outdoor table with their coffees, Clint spoke. "I didn't use one of the quinjets because Shield didn't authorize this mission."

"I had figured that much out. I just assumed you had been brought along by an agent for an unofficial mission."

"No. I'm the only one who came." Coulson frowned and Clint continued. "I overheard Director Fury talking to a few high level agents in his office, looking for volunteers to try and complete your mission. Apparently, the council told him they didn't have enough agents to provide an extraction team, so Shield was just going to hope that you could fend for yourself. After that, I left Shield, stole a jet from Stark Industries and flew here."

"So this is an unauthorized solo mission carried out by a trainee who's still on probation."

"Yeah. And I think technically I'm a rogue agent - trainee - by now. I wasn't exactly stealthy about my departure." Clint said, chuckling a little. He tucked his leg up into the chair and took a sip of his coffee.

"Well, once we get back to base, I'll get things sorted out." Coulson said.

Clint's face became stony. "I'm not going back."

"Why?"

"Director Fury doesn't trust me, and neither do most of the agents. Sure plenty of them respect or even fear my skill set, but they don't trust me. I'm always going to be the assassin Agent Coulson dragged in to them."

"What will you do instead?"

"Lie low for a while. After that, who knows? Maybe I'll go back to being an assassin for hire." Clint stood. "It was nice to meet you." He turned and started to walk away.

"So, you're going to spend a few more years as an assassin for hire until a contract goes bad or an old enemy catches up to you and you die." Clint froze as Coulson spoke. "Barton, Shield is made up of spies. No one trust new recruits, especially ones with pasts as complicated as yours. Show them you deserve to be trusted. Show them you're not who they think you are." He paused for a moment before continuing in a quieter tone. "For what it's worth, I trust you with my life."

Clint walked back to where Coulson sat. "Even if I did come back, Fury would never let me stay."

"I'll deal with Fury."

Hesitantly, Clint sat down at the table. Coulson smiled internally, knowing he had made his point.

"When do we leave?" Clint asked.

"Now. We'll get tickets for a flight back to New York and leave your 'borrowed' plane here."

* * *

Agent Coulson walked into the New York Shield base, Clint following a few steps behind. All the agents making their way through the halls stopped, staring at the pair. Ignoring them, Coulson turned to Clint.

"I'll meet you in the old training room in an hour. Try and stay out of trouble until then."

Clint grinned. "Whatever you say boss." He walked off towards the weapons range.

Coulson shook his head as he started towards Director Fury's office. _That kid and his antics. He was in for a lot of paperwork as Barton's handler._The crowded hallways parted as he walked through them and he could hear the younger agents whispering.

"That's Agent Coulson. The one who went missing."

"Why do you think his arm's in a sling?"

"I heard he single-handedly took out six men with guns."

"Who was the short archer with him?"

Coulson grinned. Barton would no doubt hate his latest nickname. He knocked on Director Fury's door and walked in without waiting for a reply.

Director Fury looked up from the pile of paperwork on his desk as Agent Coulson. "Agent Coulson. It's good to have you back."

"What do you plan to do with Barton?" Coulson asked, not in the mood for chit chat.

"He came back?" Fury sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The council wants me to lock him up."

"Since when do you do anything the council wants you to do if it doesn't follow your agenda? Barton is on track to become one of the best agents Shield has ever seen. It would be a shame to throw that away."

"I'll let him stay on one condition. You're responsible for him."

"I was hoping I could be his handler anyways. He's quite likable."

"He's a pain in my ass. But you're right, he has a lot of potential."

"There was one other thing sir."

"What?"

"Make Barton a full agent. You and I both know it's pointless to leave him a trainee. He's just going to get into more trouble."

Fury sighed again. "Give him his final evals and make sure he gets another psyche eval as well. If he passes, you can make him a fully-fledged agent. Don't make a huge ceremony about it, I'm going to get enough crap for this as it is."

Coulson turned and left. Just before the door closed all the way, Fury said, "And Phil, go get yourself checked out by medical."

* * *

Clint wandered into one of the main training rooms. A group of trainees was standing in clusters around the sparring ring, watching an intense fight between Agent Kingston and another senior agent. Clint walked over, standing a little ways apart from the rest of the trainees as he watched. A few minutes later, Agent Kingston pinned the other agent down. She held him down for a few seconds before springing lithely to her feet and offering him a hand. Clint could see beads of sweat glistening on the other man's dark skin as he shoved rudely past Clint towards the door.

"Anyone else fancy going against me?" Agent Kingston asked, leaning against the edge of the ring.

"I will." Clint replied, vaulting into the ring.

"Trainee Barton. I see you're back." She said, lowering her voice.

"Yup. Now, are we going to fight or not?"

"Of course." She stood and moved towards the center of the ring.

Clint feinted a right cross towards her face and kicked out at her ribs. She dodged his kick and launched an attack of her own, several rapid fire punches aimed at various spots. He danced away from them with ease, laughing. Deciding to put on a show, Clint pushed off the rope at the edge of the ring and flipped over Agent Kingston's head. Only touching the ground for a second, Clint launched himself into a backflip, landing lightly on the rope behind Agent Kingston. She spun to face him and they began to fight in earnest. Punches and kicks flew as they fought back and forth, both struggling to gain the upper hand. Eventually, they slowed down, both breathing heavy. Agent Kingston aimed a punch at Clint's shoulder. Instead of dodging, he grabbed her fist and used it to roll over her shoulder. He pinned her arm behind her, ending the match.

The gathered agents were silent as Clint leapt out of the ring and walked away.

* * *

Coulson walked into the old training room to finds Clint leaning lazily against the back wall.

"So staying out of trouble means sparring with - and beating - one of Shield's senior agents?"

"She did ask for volunteers."

"I spoke with Agent Kingston and she said you did quite well. We're going to count that as your physical eval, since I can't exactly spar with you." Coulson said, gesturing to the cast encasing his left wrist.

"What do you mean, my physical eval?"

"Director Fury gave me permission to do your final evaluations. If you pass, you'll be a level one agent. Now, you want to show me what you can do with that bow of yours?"

Without hesitation, Clint nocked an arrow and drew back the string. In one fluid motion, he released the string and sent the arrow flying towards its target.

_Thwump._

Spinning on the spot, Clint fired arrows at each of the targets scattered around the room.

_Thwump._

_Thwump._

_Thwump._

_Thwump._

"Satisfied?"

"Agent Kingston had told me you were a good shot. I'm glad to see she was right."

Clint smiled. "Does that mean I'm an agent now?"

Coulson chuckled. "You still have to go down to the psyche department and get a final eval there."

Clint groaned, but shouldered his quiver and walked quickly towards the psyche department.

* * *

Madison Fisher knocked on the open door to Agent Coulson's office.

"Come on in Madison." Agent Coulson called.

Madison pushed the door open a little further and sat down across from Coulson. She shuffled the papers in her file for a minute before speaking. "I just finished Barton's psyche eval. He passed."

"What else is there?" Coulson asked. "I'm assuming you didn't come down here just to tell me he passed."

"His past is more than a little troubled."

"I had figured that much out myself." Coulson replied, unable to keep a hint of impatience out of his voice. "I'm still not sure what you wanted to tell me."

"If you end up as his handler, he'll end up trusting you. It's just who you are and who he is. Don't betray that trust."

Softly Coulson said, "I know. He would never forgive someone for betraying his trust, especially someone he considers a friend."

Madison nodded and stood. "I'm glad you understand. Barton has a lot of potential… and I think there is a caring, friendly person hidden under all the snark."

Without another word, she left, pulling the door closed behind her. Coulson listened as her footsteps receded down the hall before he got up and headed for the roof.

* * *

Clint was sitting on the roof, out of sight of the cameras, dangling his feet over the edge. He heard Coulson push open the door from the stairwell.

"Hi."

"I have something you might want."

Clint turned to face Coulson. "What could that possibly be?"

Coulson ignored the question as he walked over and crouched beside Clint. He picked up the book sitting next to Clint, turning it over in his hands. "I see you took my advice and started reading _The Ranger's Apprentice._"

"You left it in the old classroom and I needed a book to read. Now, will you please tell me what it is you have?"

In response, Coulson reached into his jacket's interior pocket and pulled out a badge. He tossed it to Clint. Clint caught it easily and turned it over in his hands. Hesitantly, he opened it.

"Is this for real?" Clint asked.

"It is. Welcome to Shield, Agent Barton."

* * *

**And there you have it. The story (in this universe) of how Clint Barton came to join Shield. Hopefully it was okay; I'd love to hear your thoughts on it.**

******Ps. I think we can all agree Clint would hate the nickname 'short archer'.**

**The next story I'm going to write for this universe is called Germany. **  
**Summary: Clint and Natasha are on a mission. Take out a terrorist group. Simple. But when Natasha takes a bullet for Clint, he is left with an injured and unconscious partner, a dead body, a city locking down, and no extraction. As they sit in her hidden safehouse, something in their relationship changes.**


End file.
